In this section

CHAPTER XXXII.

COVENT GARDEN AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD (continued).

'[Agopa 'y Athhyais Chaire]Aristoph., "Acharn."

St. Paul's Church first built—Destroyed by Fire and rebuilt—Dispute between the Earl of Bedford and the Vicar of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields—Horace Walpole's Criticism of the Building—Extracts from the Parish Register—Notabilities interred in the Churchyard—The Parish Ratebooks and Church Registers—"King's" Coffee House—The Westminster Elections—The Duchess of Devonshire and Lady Duncannon's
Patriotism—Fox "chaired" as the Man for the People—"Treasonable Practices" of the "Independent Electors"—Excitement consequent
on the Westminster Elections—Morals of Covent Garden in the Seventeenth Century—Suicide of Mr. Damer—Arrest of the Muscovite
Ambassador, and his Detention in the "Black Raven"—The "Finish"—The "Museum Minervæ"—The Marquis of Worcester and the
Convent Garden—Noted Residents of Covent Garden—Tavistock Street—Tavistock Row—Charles Macklin's Residence—The Murder of
Miss Ray.

The parish church of St. Paul, Covent Garden, on
the west side of the market, as we have said, was
built by Inigo Jones, in 1633, at the expense of the
ground-landlord, Francis, Earl of Bedford. It was
consecrated by Juxon, Bishop of London, on the
27th of September, 1638; repaired, in 1727, by the
Earl of Burlington; totally destroyed by fire on
the 17th of September, 1795; and rebuilt (John
Hardwick, architect) on the plan and in the proportions of the original building. The great delay
between the period of erection and that of consecration was owing to a dispute between the Earl
of Bedford and Bray, the Vicar of St. Martin'sin-the-Fields, on the right of presentation; the
earl claiming it as his own, because he had built
it at his own expense, and the vicar claiming it as
his own, because, not being then parochial, it was
nothing more than a chapel-of-ease to St. Martin's.
The matter was heard by the King in Council on
the 6th of April, 1638, and judgment given in
favour of the earl.

The architecture of St. Paul's Church was not to
the taste of Horace Walpole, who criticises it in
his usual caustic style:—"The arcade of Covent
Garden, and the church—two structures of which
I want taste to see the beauties. In the arcade
there is nothing remarkable; the pilasters are as
errant and homely stripes as any plasterer would
make. The barn roof over the portico of the
church strikes my eyes with as little idea of dignity
or beauty as it could do if it covered nothing but
a barn. In justice to Inigo, one must own that
the defect is not in the architect, but in the order:
who ever saw a beautiful Tuscan building? Would
the Romans have chosen that order for a temple?
Mr. Onslow, the late Speaker, told me an anecdote
that corroborates my opinion of this building.
When the Earl of Bedford sent for Inigo, he told
him he wanted a chapel for the parishioners of
Covent Garden, but added he would not go to
any considerable expense. 'In short,' said he,
'I would have it not much better than a barn.'
'Well, then,' replied Jones, 'you shall have the
handsomest barn in England.' The expense of
building was £4,500."

The parish register records the baptism of Lady
Mary Wortley Montague, and the marriage (1764)
of Lady Susan Strangways to O'Brien, the handsome actor.

In the churchyard hard by lie buried many eminent persons: amongst others, Robert Carr, Earl
of Somerset, who died in 1645; Sir Henry Herbert
(whose "office book," as "Master of the Revels,"
throws so much light on the history of our stage
and drama in the time of Charles I.), brother to
Lord Herbert of Cherbury and George Herbert,
who died in 1673. Not far off rests Samuel Butler,
the author of "Hudibras." Butler died in Rose
Street, of consumption, on the 25th of September,
1680, and was buried, "according to his owne
appointment," as Aubrey tells us in his "Lives,"
"in the churchyard of Covent Garden; sc. in
the north part next the church at the east end.
His feet touch the wall. His grave 2 yards distant
from the pilaster of the dore (by his desire), 6
foot deepe. About 25 of his old acquaintance at
his funerall: I myself being one." It is a "moot
point" whether Samuel Butler was buried at the
eastern or the western end of the north wall of the
churchyard, the accounts of two individuals who
might be presumed to be best acquainted with the
exact spot where he lies being in conflict on this
matter of detail. "Subsequently," says Mr. J. H.
Jesse, "some persons unknown to fame erected
a monument to the memory of the poet, in the
churchyard, but apparently no trace of it now
remains." Here, too, lies buried Sir Peter Lely,
the painter, who died in the Piazza in 1680. His
monument of white marble, which shared the fate
of the church when destroyed by fire in 1795, was
adorned with a bust of the great artist between two
Cupids, as well as with fruit, foliage, and other
devices, executed by Gibbons: the inscription
alone has been preserved. Near him lie Dick
Estcourt, the actor and wit, who died in 1711–12,
and Edward Kynaston, the celebrated actor of
female parts at the Restoration—a complete female
stage-beauty, "that it has since been disputable
among the judicious, whether any woman that
succeeded him so sensibly touched the audience
as he." (fn. 1) Here too rests William Wycherley, the
dramatist, who died in Bow Street in 1715; Pierce
Tempest, who drew the "Cries of London," known
as "Tempest's Cries," and who died in 1717;
and Grinling Gibbons, the sculptor and carver in
wood, who died in 1721. Not far off are Mrs.
Centlivre, author of The Busybody and The Wonder,
and Robert Wilkes (the original "Sir Harry Wildair," celebrated by Steele for acting with the easy
frankness of a gentleman), who died in 1731. Near
him are James Worsdale, the painter, who carried
Pope's letters to Curll, and, dying in 1767, was buried
in the churchyard, with an inscription (removed
in 1848) of his own composing; also John Wolcot,
the "Peter Pindar" of the reign of George III.,
whom he lashed, as well as his minister Pitt, with
merciless vigour and persistency. He became the
popular satirist of the day, and the fluency of his
pen was equalled by its grossness and obscene
vulgarity. Those who remember him when he
lived in the neighbourhood say that he was a gross
sensualist, in spite of his moral mission as a satirist,
and that he whimsically lay in bed nearly all day
because it was easier to exist when his body weighed
only a few ounces than when he had to carry some
fifteen stone about. He died in January, 1819,
and deserves mention here on account of his eccentricities, of which it were much to be wished that
they could be called harmless ones. But he was
the enemy of others as well as of himself, and no
one cares to say a good word on his behalf. Here
also may or might be seen a curious epitaph upon
Mr. Button, who kept the noted coffee-house in
Russell Street:—
"Odds fish, and fiery coals,
Are graves become Button-holes!"

In St. Paul's Church is buried, in a nameless
grave, a lady, who died in James Street, in this
parish, in March, 1720, and who was described at
the time simply as "the unknown." This mysterious person is described by Mr. J. Timbs, in
his "Romance of London," as "middle-sized, with
dark brown hair, and very beautiful features, and
the mistress of every accomplishment of fashion.
Her circumstances," he continues, "were affluent,
and she possessed many rich trinkets set with
diamonds. A Mr. John Ward, of Hackney, published several particulars of her in the newspapers,
and amongst others said that a servant had been
directed by her to deliver to him a letter after her
death; but, as no servant appeared, he felt himself
required to notice those circumstances, in order to
acquaint her relations that her death occurred
suddenly after a masquerade, where she declared
that she had conversed with the king; and it was
remembered that she had been seen in the private
apartments of Queen Anne, though, after the
queen's death, she lived in obscurity. 'The unknown' arrived in London in 1714 from Mansfield,
in a carriage drawn by six horses. She frequently
said that her brother was a nobleman, but that
her elder brother dying unmarried, the title was
extinct; adding that she had an uncle living from
whom she had expectations. It was conjectured,"
adds Mr. Timbs, though he does not tell us why,
"that she was the daughter of a Roman Catholic,
who had consigned her to a convent." But the
rumours "lacks confirmation."

Mr. J. H. Jesse, in his "London," pronounces
St. Paul's Church as "unquestionably the most
interesting spot in Covent Garden;" and possibly
it might be so had not the old church been
destroyed by fire at the end of the last century.
"Few persons," he writes, "who are in the habit
of passing by this heavy-looking building, are aware
that, with the exception of Westminster Abbey,
here lie the remains of more men of genius than,
apparently, in any other church in London." He
adds, however, that "except a small tablet to
the memory of Macklin, the actor, it contains no
monumental memorials of the dead;" a fact, we
should have thought, which would have been very
fatal to its claim to be the "most interesting spot"
of the neighbourhood. We want to see these
mute memorials with our eyes, and to read the
names inscribed upon them, in order to realise,
save in the faintest sense, the local and personal
interest which clings to such places.

The rectory of St. Paul's, Covent Garden, is
in the patronage of the Duke of Bedford; and,
curiously enough, the parish is entirely surrounded
by that of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, from which it
was cut off.

The rate-books of this parish are kept carefully arranged in streets, like a Post-office Directory;
and they contain the name of every householder
from the first formation of the parish down to the
present day. The church registers also are kept
with scrupulous care.

Close under the portico of the church was a
common kind of shed, "once well known," says
Arthur Murphy, "to all gentlemen to whom beds
are unknown," facetiously termed "King's Coffee
House." "It was kept," writes Peter Cunningham,
"by a person of the name of Tom King, and it
forms a conspicuous feature in Hogarth's print
of 'Morning.'" Of this print we give an engraving
on page 253. The coffee-house has, however, long
since been swept away.

As the hustings for the Westminster elections,
from time immemorial to a recent date, have been
fixed before the east end of St. Paul's Church, that
side of Covent Garden has often witnessed the most
exciting scenes. But never was witnessed, either
there or elsewhere, an election more exciting than
that of May, 1784, when the Tory party moved
heaven and earth to exclude the Whig leader,
Charles James Fox, from the representation of
Westminster. As, day after day, the inhabitants
of the metropolitan parishes had polled, and the
numbers were nearly even, the task of beating up
the outlying voters in the suburbs was undertaken
with a heart and a will by Georgiana, Duchess of
Devonshire, and her sister, Lady Duncannon.
"These ladies," writes Sir N. W. Wraxall, "being
furnished with lists of the outlying voters, drove in
their carriages to their respective dwellings, sparing
neither entreaties nor promises. In some instances
even personal caresses were said to have been
permitted in order to prevail on the sulky and
inflexible; and there can be no doubt of common
mechanics having been conveyed to the hustings
by the Duchess in her own coach." The effect of
such a powerful intervention soon showed itself.
Fox was soon a hundred votes ahead of his
opponent, Sir Cecil Wray, and in spite of the
counter efforts of the Countess of Salisbury, at the
close of the poll he had a clear majority of 235.
It was on this occasion that an Irish costermonger,
if we may believe the story, came up to Her Grace
of Devonshire, who was one of the leading beauties
of the day, and respectfully and wittily entreated
to be allowed to "light his pipe at her ladyship's
eye." It is on record that Her Grace of Devonshire used regularly, on the occasion of an election,
to hire a first-floor in Henrietta Street in order
that she might witness the proceedings, and lend
at least her countenance to the Whig party. From
the hustings at Covent Garden a procession was
formed, and Fox was "chaired," as the man of
the people, through the chief streets of Westminster to Carlton House, the gates of which were
thrown open to the excited multitude; the ostrich
plumes carried in front of him denoting the patronage of the Whig cause by the Prince of Wales;
while another flag was inscribed with the words,
"Sacred to Female Patriotism," in allusion to
the Duchess of Devonshire. The intense feelings
excited on this occasion are thus summed up by a
contemporary writer:—"All minor interests were
swallowed up in this struggle, which held not only
the capital, but also the nation, in suspense, while
it rendered Covent Garden and its neighbourhood,
during three successive weeks, a scene of outrage
and even of blood."

The Westminster elections would seem generally to have been conducted with very bitter feelings
on both sides. We are told by Wright, in a footnote to the letters of Horace Walpole, how the
keeper of the "White Horse" in Piccadilly, being
at a dinner among the "independent electors,"
taking notes in pencil, was beaten and cuffed by
them, being supposed to be an informer against
their treasonable practices. These practices
appear to have consisted in offensive toasts. "On
the king's health being drunk, every man held a
glass of water in his left hand, and waved a glass
of wine over it with his right."

Down to the passing of the first Reform Bill
the voting continued for fourteen days, during
which the whole of London was kept in a state of
violent excitement. Mr. H. C. Robinson, in his
"Diary," speaks of a Westminster election as "a
scene only ridiculous and disgusting. The vulgar
abuse of the candidates from the vilest rabble,"
he adds, "is not rendered endurable by either wit
or good temper."

"I saw," writes Cyrus Redding, "the election
for Westminster, when Sheridan and Paull were
rivals. Among other ridiculous things, a kind of
stage was brought from Drury Lane Theatre, supported on men's shoulders; upon this there were
four tailors busily at work, with a live goose and
several huge cabbages; they came close up to the
hustings, before Paull, amidst roars of laughing.
The joke was, that Paull's father had been a tailor.
A voter called out to Sheridan that he had long
supported him, but should, after that, withdraw his
countenance from him. 'Take it away at once—take it away at once,' cried Sheridan from the
hustings; 'it is the most villainous-looking countenance I ever beheld!'"

MACKLIN'S HOUSE, TAVISTOCK ROW.

As to the morals of Covent Garden in the
seventeenth century, we may leave them to be
inferred from the following couplet in the epilogue
to Dryden's Limberham:—
"This town two bargains has not worth one farthing,
A Smithfield horse, and wife of Covent Garden."

And that the tastes of its inhabitants were alike loose
and extravagant may be gathered from Wycherley,
who speaks of "an ill-bred City dame, whose husband has been broke by living in Covent Garden."

In a tavern at Covent Garden, the husband of
the exquisite sculptress, the Hon. Mrs. Damer,
shot himself in 1776. Mr. Damer's suicide was
hastened, and indeed provoked, by the refusal
of his father, Lord Milton, to discharge his debts.
Horace Walpole, after entering at length into
this matter in a letter to Sir Horace Mann, in
August, 1776, gives the following circumstantial
account:—"On Thursday Mr. Damer supped
at the 'Bedford Arms,' in Covent Garden, with
four ladies and a blind fiddler. At three in the
morning he dismissed his seraglio, ordering his
Orpheus to come up again in half an hour. When
he returned he found his master dead, and smelt
gunpowder. He called: the master of the house
came up; and they found Mr. Damer sitting in a
chair dead, with one pistol beside him and another
in his pocket. The ball had not gone through his
head or made any report. On the table lay a
scrap of paper with these words, 'The people of
the house are not to blame for what has happened;
it was my own act. …' What a catastrophe
for a man at thirty-two, heir to two-and-twenty
thousand a year!" Horace Walpole remarks,
with his usual cynicism on this affair, that "Five
thousand a year in present, and £22,000 in reversion, are not, it would seem, sufficient for happiness,
and cannot check a pistol."

DINING-ROOM OF THE GARRICK CLUB.

The following curious circumstance is mentioned
in the "Life of Queen Anne," where, under date
of 1708, we read that "the Muscovite Ambassador
having had his audience of leave of the Queen,
Mr. Morton, a laceman in Covent Garden, and
some others of his creditors, caused him to be
arrested, on the 21st of July, as he was riding
in his coach. The bailiffs thrust themselves into
the coach, took away his sword and cane, and
carried him to a spunging-house, called the 'Black
Raven.' Here the Ambassador sent to one of
the Secretaries of State to acquaint him with his
being insulted in that manner, but no secretaries
could be found; and only Mr. Walpole, an undersecretary, came to him (as the Czar observes in his
letter) to be witness to his disgrace; for, instead
being discharg'd, he was compell'd to put in bail to
the action. It seems the debt was but £50, and
all the debts he ow'd did not amount to £300,
which still renders the crime more unpardonable;
and after all, no punishment adequate to the
offence either way or (as 'tis said) could be
inflicted on the offender by the laws of this
kingdom. The Imperial, and Prussian, and other
Foreign Ministers, looking upon themselves concern'd in this affair, demanded satisfaction for the
outrage. Indeed, Morton and some others of the
creditors, with the attorney and bailiffs, were
summoned before the Council, and committed to
custody for the present, and an information ordered
to be preferred against them; but when the case
came to be argued, the Court could not discover
any law they had offended."

Among the notorieties of "the Garden" was the
well-known night house called "The Finish." It
stood on the south side of the market sheds,
and was kept at the beginning of the present
century by a Mrs. Butler. There, according to
"Tom Cribb's Memorial to Congress," the "gentlemen of the road" used to divide their spoil in the
grey dawn of the morning, when it was time for
the night birds to fly to their roost. Hence
Tommy Moore, who frequented this place, whimsically says that the "Congress" is—
"Some place that's like the 'Finish,' lads!
Where all your high pedestrian pads
That have been up and out all night
Running their rigs among the rattlers,
At morning meet, and, honour bright,
Agree to share the blunt and tatters."

One of the earliest records of the artistic fame of
Covent Garden is that of Charles I. establishing,
in the house of Sir Francis Kynaston, an academy
called the "Museum Minervæ," for the instruction of gentlemen in arts and sciences, knowledge
of metals, antiquities, painting, architecture, and
foreign languages. Was this the first faint foreshadowing of the Royal Academy?

An amusing story in connection with Covent
Garden—more especially with reference to the
derivation of its name from Convent Garden—is
told respecting the old Marquis of Worcester.
His lordship being made prisoner, was committed
to the custody of the Black-Rod, who then lived
in Covent Garden; the noble Marquis, says the
historiographer, demanded of Dr. Bayly and others
in his company, "What they thought of fortunetellers?" It was answered, "That some of them
spoke shrewdly." Whereupon the Marquis said,
"It was told me by some of them, before ever I
was a Catholic, that I should die in a Convent, but
I never believed them before now; yet I hope they
will not bury me in a Garden."

Lady Muskerry, the Princess of Babylon of De
Grammont's "Memoirs," was living here in 1676,
according to Mr. P. Cunningham, in the north-west
angle, at the corner of James Street. Nicholas
Rowe, the dramatic poet, was residing in Covent
Garden in 1716; and close by lived and died
Thomas Southern, the author of Oroonoko and
of the Fatal Marriage, whose remains are interred
in the Church of St. Paul hard by. In Covent
Garden there was, at all events, one auction-room
for the sale of prints, &c., that of the elder Langford, the same who is introduced by Foote as "Mr.
Puff" in his farce of The Mirror.

Of Tavistock Street, which forms the south side
of Covent Garden, Mr. Walker writes thus in "The
Original:"—"The standard of wealth is no less
changed than the standard of safety. Tavistock
Street, Covent Garden, was once a street of fashionable shops, what Bond Street was till lately, and
what Bond Street and Regent Street together are
now. I remember hearing an old lady say that in
her young days the crowd of handsome equipages
in Tavistock Street was considered one of the
sights of London. I have had the curiosity to
stride it. It is about one hundred and sixty yards
long, and, before the footways were widened, would
have admitted three carriages abreast."

The only memory that Mr. Cunningham recalls
to us in his generally exhaustive "Handbook of
London" concerning this street, is the fact that in
it the celebrated singer, Leveridge, kept a publichouse after retiring from the stage, and also brought
out a collection of songs with music. At No. 4,
in the north-west corner of Tavistock Row, the
same house in which Miss Ray lived, was the last
residence of Charles Macklin, the comedian and
centenarian, who died here in July, 1797. And
here, says Mr. Cunningham, "the elder Mathews
was called upon to give the aged actor a taste of
his boyish taste for the stage."

To Tavistock Street or Row properly belongs
the story of the murder of Miss Ray by the Rev.
Mr. Hackman. Though referred to by Horace
Walpole as "among the strangest that he had ever
heard, and one which he could scarcely bring himself to believe," it has been often told, but by no
one better than by Mr. John Timbs in his
"Romance of London." It appears that the gay
Earl of Sandwich, First Lord of the Admiralty
under Lord North's administration, whilst passing
through Covent Garden, espied one day a pretty
milliner at No. 4, on the southern side, at the
corner of Tavistock Street. Her name was Martha
Ray; according to one account, her parents were
labourers at Elstree, on the borders of Hertfordshire; though others say that they were staymakers
in Holywell Street. Be this as it may, she had
served her time as an apprentice with a mantuamaker in Clerkenwell Close; and when Lord
Sandwich first saw her she was very young. (fn. 2) He
removed her from her shop, had her education
completed, and took her as his mistress, though
he was old enough to be her father. In spite of
his countess being alive, Lord Sandwich introduced
her to his family circle at Hinchinbrooke, his seat
in Huntingdonshire; and she charmed the county
families around—especially the ladies, and even
the bishop's wife—by her charming, yet modest,
manners, and her beautiful voice. And we have
the authority of Mr. Cradock for saying that in her
situation she was a pattern of discretion; for when
a lady of rank, between one of the acts of the
oratorio, advanced to converse with her, she expressed her embarrassment; and Lord Sandwich,
turning privately to a friend, said, "As you are
well acquainted with that lady, I wish you would
give her a hint that there is a boundary line in my
family that I do not wish to see exceeded." She
was already the mother of a young family by the
earl, when she made the acquaintance of a certain
Captain Hackman, an officer in a foot regiment,
then quartered at Huntingdon, whom she soon
inspired with the same passion as that which had
brought Lord Sandwich to her feet. Hackman
(whom Mr. Cradock met at Hinchinbrooke, the
hospitable seat of Lord Sandwich) at once proposed marriage to her, but she told him that "she
did not choose to carry a knapsack." Her new
admirer therefore resolved to exchange the army
for the Church, and became vicar of Wyverton,
in Norfolk. Half inclined, probably, to marry
Hackman, she appears now to have complained
that no settlement had been made upon her, adding
that she was anxious to relieve his lordship of
expense, and to have even thought of taking an
engagement as a singer at the Italian Opera, where
she had an offer of £3,000 and a free benefit.
Lord Sandwich, in some doubt as to the real mind
of his mistress, now placed Miss Ray under the
charge of a duenna; while Hackman grew jealous,
and appears to have resolved to destroy either
himself or Miss Ray, or both. On the evening
of the 7th of April, 1779, Miss Ray went, with a
female attendant, to Covent Garden Theatre, to
see Love in a Village. She had declined to tell
Mr. Hackman how she was engaged that evening;
he appears, therefore, to have watched her movements, and saw her carriage drive by a coffeehouse in Cockspur Street, where he had posted
himself. As the carriage drove on, Hackman followed, at a quick pace, to the theatre. The ladies
sat in a front box, and three gentlemen, all connected with the Admiralty, occasionally paid their
compliments to them. Mr. Hackman, too, was
sometimes in the lobby and sometimes in an upper
side-box, and more than once called at the "Bedford
Coffee-house" to take a glass of brandy and water,
but still was unable, on returning to the theatre, to
obtain an interview with Miss Ray. The upshot
was that after the piece was over, when the crowd
was beginning to pour out, Hackman rushed out of
the door of the coffee-house, just opposite to that
of the theatre, and as a gentleman was handing the
lady into her carriage, drew forth a pistol and shot
her through the head. He then drew another
pistol to shoot himself; but the ball grazed without penetrating his head, and he then endeavoured
to beat out his own brains with the butt-end of the
pistol. In this attempt on his own life, however,
he was prevented, and was carried off as a prisoner
by the Bow Street "runners" to the Bridewell at
Tothill Fields.

Horace Walpole gives us some additional particulars concerning the murder of Miss Ray in one
of his letters to his acquaintance:—"Miss Ray, it
appears, has been out of order, and abroad but
twice all the winter. She went to the play on
Wednesday night, for the second time, with Galli
the singer. During the play the desperate lover
was at the 'Bedford' Coffee-house, and behaved
with great calmness, and drank a glass of capillaire.
Towards the conclusion he sallied out into the
Piazza, waiting till he saw his victim handed to
her carriage by Mr. Macnamara, an Irish Templar,
with whom she had been seen to coquet during
the performance in the theatre. Hackman came
behind her, pulled her by the gown, and, on her
turning round, clapped the pistol to her forehead
and shot her through the head. With another
pistol he then attempted to shoot himself. …
Now, is not the story full as strange as ever it
was? Miss Ray has six children; the eldest son
is fifteen; and she was at least three times as
much."

The real fact, however, is that Miss Ray had
borne to Lord Sandwich no less than nine children, five of whom were then living. One of these
afterwards attained distinction, Mr. Basil Mon
tague, Q.C., eminent both as a lawyer and as a man
of letters, who died in 1851, and whose early
success at the bar, it is said, was very greatly a
result of his having contradicted the then Lord
Chancellor on a point of law, and being told by his
lordship next day that he was right in his view. But
to return to Miss Ray's assassination. Hackman
was tried at the Old Bailey for the murder, and the
fact that he had two pistols instead of one compelled
the jury to believe that it was not suicide only that
he had contemplated as he sat that evening in the
window of the hotel in Cockspur Street, but that
his assassination of Miss Ray was a cool and
deliberate act. Accordingly he was found guilty,
sentenced to death, and hung at Tyburn, being
accompanied in the coach by Lord Carlisle and by
James Boswell, who, like George Selwyn, was fond
of being present at executions.

A curious book, it may here be remarked before
quitting the subject, arose out of this tragical story.
In the following year was published an octavo
volume pretending to contain the correspondence
of Hackman and Miss Ray. It was entitled "Love
and Madness; or a story too true, in a series
of letters between parties whose names would
perhaps be mentioned were they less known or less
lamented." The book, appealing as it did to the
sensational element in nature, soon ran through
several editions. The real author of it was Sir
Herbert Croft. Walpole, as if puzzled what to
make of it, writes, "I doubt whether the letters are
genuine; and yet, if fictitious, they are well executed, and enter into his character: hers appear
less natural; and yet the editors were certainly
more likely to be in possession of hers than of his.
It is not probable that Lord Sandwich should have
sent to the press what he found in her apartments;
and no account is pretended to be given of how
they came to light."

It was said that when Miss Ray's body was
brought into the "Shakespeare" Tavern, George
Selwyn put on a long black cloak, and sat in the
room with the corpse, as a mourner; but the story
"lacks confirmation."

CHAPTER XXXIII.

COVENT GARDEN AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD (continued).

Distinguished Inhabitants of James Street—Henrietta Street—Sir Robert Strange, the Historical Engraver—Duel between Sheridan and
Mathews—Formation of the Society of Arts—King Street—D'Urfey's Allusion to the "Three Kings"—Hutchins' and Paterson's Auction
Rooms—"The Essex Serpent"—Samuel Taylor Coleridge—The Garrick Club—Collection of Theatrical Portraits—Rose Street—Samuel
Butler, the Author of "Hudibras"—Assault of Dryden—The "Pope's Head" and Curll the Bookseller—New Street—Dr. Johnson's
Dinner—Artists in Long Acre—Wedgwood—Removal of Signboards—Bedford Street—An Old Tea Shop—Garrick in Southampton Street—The old Welsh Alehouse—Danby and Marvell—Voltaire—Turner—Quarrel between Hogarth and Churchill—The "Cider Cellars"—Chandos
Street—Bedfordbury—Sir F. Kynaston and the Museum Minervæ.

Continuing our desultory tour, we next come to
James Street, which runs out of Covent Garden on
the north, and connects it with Long Acre: it
shows the date of its erection by its name, being
called after the Duke of York, afterwards James II.
It is mentioned casually in the Spectator, No. 266,
and has had at all events one distinguished inhabitant—Sir James Thornhill, the painter. The house
is to be identified by the help of the European
Magazine for 1804, which speaks of it as situated
on the eastern side of the street, with back offices
and a painting-room abutting on Langford's (then
Cock's) auction-rooms, in the Piazza. Here, too,
according to Mr. P. Cunningham, lived Sir Henry
Herbert, the last Master of the Revels at the Stuart
Court; and also the engraver, Charles Grignion.
In other respects the street seems to have enjoyed
but little celebrity in comparison with the neighbouring thoroughfares.

Henrietta Street, which connects the south-west
corner of Covent Garden with Bedford Street, was
built in 1637, and named after Henrietta Maria,
queen of Charles I. Indeed, it may be said that
all the streets around Covent Garden, except those
named after the Russell family, bespeak by their
names—all borrowed from our Stuart princes—the
dates of their erection. Strafford, Lord Lieutenant
of Ireland, was one of the earliest aristocratic inhabitants of this street. In 1640 Sir Robert Strange,
the engraver, was living at the "Golden Head," in
this street, when he published his proposals for
engraving by subscription three historical prints.
Two other interesting reminiscences belong to this
street. It was at the "Castle" Tavern, in Henrietta
Street, that Sheridan fought a duel with Mathews,
his rival in the affections of Miss Linley; and at
Bawthmell's Coffee-house that the Society of Arts
was formed, in 1754.

King Street, the thoroughfare running parallel
with Henrietta Street, and forming an outlet from
the north-west corner of Covent Garden, was built
at the same time as Henrietta Street. Lenthall,
the Speaker of the House of Commons during the
Commonwealth, lived in this street, in a house the
site of which is now covered by the "Westminster
Fire-office." Here was the residence of the three
Indian kings mentioned in the Tatler and Spectator,
and who lodged in the house of Mr. Arne, an
upholsterer. This Mr. Arne was the father of the
celebrated Dr. Arne, the composer. In after times
an inn, called after these three Oriental sovereigns,
would appear to have been established there; to it,
probably, Tom D'Urfey alludes in his collection
of songs, published in 1719:—
"Farewell, 'Three Kings,' where I have spent
Full many an idle hour;
Where oft I won, but never lost,
If it were in my power.
Farewell, my dearest Piccadill,
Notorious for great dinners;
Oh, what a tennis-court was there!
Alas! too good for sinners.
Now, God bless all that will be blest;
God bless the Inns of Court,
And God bless D'Avenant's Opera,
Which is the sport of sport."

From an early date King Street would appear to
have been a favourite haunt for the auctioneers.
Here were the sale-rooms of Hutchins, and of
Paterson, to whose son Dr. Johnson stood as godfather, and for whom he wrote letters of recommendation to Sir Joshua Reynolds. In these two
sale-rooms large collections of prints and pictures
were constantly passing under the auctioneer's
hammer; and among the crowds of purchasers
were such men as Gough, the editor of Camden's
"Britannia," with his formal-cut coat and waistcoat, and high boots, and carrying in his hand a
"swish-whip" instead of a walking-stick; Dr. Lort,
chaplain to the Duke of Devonshire, and the
correspondent of "Old Cole," with his thick worsted
stockings and "Busby" wig; Caleb Whiteford,
witty and well dressed, after the fashion of the
Garrick school; Dr. Gossett, Captain Baillie,
Mr. Baker, Mr. Woodhouse, Mr. Musgrave, Mr.
Pitt, and Mr. Woodhall—all of them keen-scented
collectors of articles of vertu, and of prints by
celebrated artists such as Hogarth, Cipriani, and
Rowlandson.

In King Street there was lately, and perhaps still
is, the sign of "The Essex Serpent." Mr. Larwood
suggests that this sign is an allusion to a fabulous
monster recorded in a broadside of 1704, from
which we learn that before Henry II. died a dragon
of marvellous bigness was discovered at St. Osyth,
in Essex. In the absence of any more probable
hypothesis, we may accept this suggestion as
plausible, if not as satisfactory.

In King Street also lived the philosophical
poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge, from 1799 down
to 1802, whilst he was earning his livelihood as
an unknown writer on political subjects for the
Morning Post.

The Garrick Club was originally established in
King Street, at No. 35, about the middle of the
north side, in 1834; and here its fine gallery of
theatrical and literary portraits remained until the
opening of its new and permanent home in Garrick
Street, in 1864.

Garrick Street is the name given to a wide and
spacious thoroughfare which was driven about the
year 1860 across the site of Rose Street and a nest
of close and crowded alleys, between King Street
and St. Martin's Lane. It takes its name from the
Garrick Club, which occupies a noble building
erected for its members by Mr. Marrable, and in
which is to be seen the finest collection of theatrical
portraits in the kingdom. It was first made by the
elder Charles Mathews, at his residence in Kentish
Town. It includes authentic likenesses of most of
the theatrical celebrities of the past two centuries—Foote, Quin, Garrick, Nell Gwynne, Mrs. Billington,
Nancy Dawson, Colley Cibber—some in costume,
and others in private dress. The gallery is allowed
to be viewed on every Wednesday morning (except
during September) by any one personally introduced by a member. Among the pictures, which
cover nearly the whole of the walls of the various
rooms set apart for the use of the members, may
be specially mentioned the half-length portrait of
Mrs. Oldfield, by Sir Godfrey Kneller; Mrs.
Siddons, by Harlow; a fine picture of King;
and Mr. and Mrs. Baddeley in The Clandestine
Marriage, by Zoffany; Macklin as "Sir Pertinax
Macsycophant," by De Wilde; Mathews, in five
characters, by Harlow; Garrick between Tragedy
and Comedy; Mrs. Bracegirdle; Mrs. Abington
as "Lady Bab," by Hickey; the screen scene from
the School for Scandal, as originally cast; Rich
as harlequin (1753); King as "Touchstone," by
Zoffany; C. Kemble and Fawcett in Charles II.,
by Clint; Garrick as "Richard III.," by the elder
Morland. Since the removal of the club to Garrick
Street the number of pictures has been greatly
augmented; among the more recent additions being
a choice collection of water-colour full-length
portraits of theatrical celebrities painted by Mr.
John Leech. Upon the walls of the smokingroom there are a few large paintings by Clarkson
Stanfield, Louis Haigh, and David Roberts. In
the coffee-room there are some objects of interest
to the curious, independent of the paintings upon
the walls—namely, the jewels, &c., presented to
Garrick and worn by him upon the stage. Among
the busts, of which there are several in the Club,
especially in the library, may be particularly
noticed one of Thackeray; one of Mrs. Siddons
and her brother; and one of Shakespeare, which
was formerly bricked up in a wall, but was discovered and brought again to light during the
demolition of the old Lincoln's Inn Theatre, in
1848.

Old Rose Street, which ran north and south
from the western end of King Street, has been so
altered within the last few years by the advancing
spirit of clearance and ventilation that its original
aspect has been almost entirely swept away.
Previous to the year 1859, when many of its old
and dilapidated tenements were pulled down in
order to form the broad thoroughfare of Garrick
Street, which now crosses it, here might be seen
low gambling-houses; floors let out to numerous
families with fearful broods of children; sundry
variations of the magisterial permission "to be
drunk on the premises;" strange, chaotic trades, to
which no one skilled contribution imparted a distinctive character; and, by way of a moral drawn
from the far-off pure air of open fields and farmyards, a London dairy, professing to be constantly
supplied with fresh butter, cream, and new milk
from the country: these were some of the special
features of a thoroughfare which was marked by a
tablet upon one of its houses bearing the superscription, "This is Red Rose Street, 1623." If
the appearance of the street as above indicated,
were all it could boast of, Rose Street might go
down into dust without a word by way of epitaph.
But there are circumstances connected with it
which will render it immortal in our annals, when
its very site shall have become a matter of doubt
hundreds of years hence; for Samuel Butler, the
author of "Hudibras," died here in 1680, of a complication of ailments and miseries, the most urgent
of which was want.

We may here say that in this dark and narrow
alley, too—for Rose Street is, or rather was,
scarcely anything better—Dryden the poet was
attacked by three hired assailants, and beaten, to
use the expressive phrase, "within an inch of his
life." This attack has become almost historical.
Some of his biographers tell us that when the
ferocious assault was made upon him he was going
home to his house in Gerrard Street, from "Will's
Coffee-house" in Russell Street, Covent Garden,
which he was in the habit of frequently attending.
This statement has given rise to much controversy,
which the late Mr. Robert Bell, in the first volume
of Once a Week, was at considerable pains to
set at rest. The assault took place on the night
of the 18th of December, 1679, so that the poet
could not be making his way at the time to Gerrard
Street, for that street, it is alleged, was not built
till some two years later. Dryden is stated, on the
authority of the rate-books of the parish, to have
lived in Fleet Street from 1673 to 1682, when he
removed to a house in Long Acre, exactly facing
the dismal embouchure of Rose Street. Here he
lived till 1686, when he went farther westward to
the house 43, Gerrard Street, where he died on the
1st of May, 1700. "If these dates be correct,"
says the writer above referred to, "there would be
no difficulty in determining where Dryden was
living at the time; … for we find that while
the rate-books of St. Bride's are quoted to show
that in 1679 he was living in Fleet Street, the ratebooks of St. Martin's are relied upon with equal
confidence to prove that at the same time he was
living in Long Acre. The biographers who have
escaped the dilemma by sending him on to Gerrard
Street at once may therefore turn out to be right,
after all. Fleet Street, at all events, is put out of
court. We know from the contemporary account
of the circumstance that he was going from Covent
Garden; and if he were going home, as must be
inferred from the lateness of the hour, he could not
have been going to Fleet Street, which would take
him in the opposite direction, while the way both
to Gerrard Street and Long Acre lay direct through
this unsavoury Rose Avenue. To one or other of
these places he must have been going. "Perhaps,"
the writer naïvely adds, "most readers will be of
opinion that it is not very material which date is
correct, or to what house he was wending his way
at the time." The important event is the assault
itself, and the circumstance that it occurred in
Rose Street.

At the "Rose" Tavern, in or close to Rose Street,
as Mr. John Timbs tells us, the "Treason Club"
met, at the time of the Revolution, to consult with
Lord Colchester, Mr. Thomas Wharton, and many
others; and it was on this occasion resolved that
the regiment under Lieutenant-Colonel Langdale's
command should desert entire, as in fact it did in
November, 1688.

In Rose Street lived the notorious bookseller,
Edmund Curll, at the "Pope's Head," a sign which
he had set up, not, certainly, out of affection for
Alexander Pope, but rather from an opposite feeling. "After the quarrel which arose out of Curll's
piratical publication of Pope's library correspondence," says Mr. Larwood, in his "History of SignBoards," "Curll addressed, in May, 1735, a letter
of thanks to the House of Lords, ending thus:
'I have engraved a new plate of Mr. Pope's head
from Mr. Jervas's painting, and likewise intend to
hang him up in effigy for a sign to all spectators of
his falsehood and my veracity, which I will always
maintain, under the Scotch motto, 'Nemo me
impune lacesset.'"

INTERIOR OF ST. MARTIN'S HALL.

New Street, which forms the continuation from
King Street to St. Martin's Lane, was a favourite
rseort of Dr. Johnson. His first lodgings were at
the house of Mr. Norris, a staymaker, in Exeter
Street, adjoining Catherine Street, in the Strand.
"I dined," said he, "very well for eightpence,
with very good company, at the 'Pine Apple,' in
New Street, just by. Several of them had travelled.
They expected to meet every day, but did not know
one another's names. It used to cost the rest a
shilling, for they drank wine; but I had a cut of
meat for sixpence, and bread for a penny, and gave
the waiter a penny; so that I was quite well served—nay, better than the rest, for they gave the waiter
nothing." In the reign of Charles II. New Street
was very fashionably inhabited; for, as Mr. Peter
Cunningham tells us, the Countess of Chesterfield,
the lady with whom Van Dyck was in love, occupied a house on the south side in 1660. Flaxman,
the famous sculptor, was living here in the years
1771 and 1772.

The neighbourhood to the east of St. Martin's
Lane up to Long Acre northwards a century ago
formed the centre for artists of every class and
their allies. The great Sir Joshua Reynolds, as
we have seen in an earlier chapter, held his court
in Leicester Square; the old Life Academy had
been for years in a house at the top of a court
in "the Lane," as it was at that time familiarly
styled; and "in Long Acre itself were congregated
the colour-makers, goldbeaters, artists' tool-makers,
modellers, and journeymen of every kind," as Miss
Meteyard tells us in her "Life of Wedgwood." Here,
at the corner of Newport Street and of St. Martin's
Lane, in a house with a double frontage into either
thoroughfare, in 1768–74, were the show-rooms
of Josiah Wedgwood's pottery-ware and porcelain,
before he settled down in Greek Street, Soho,
where we found him in a previous chapter. As
Miss Meteyard remarks, "Newport Street and its
neighbourhood have undergone, since then, so great
an amount of alteration as to show at this day few,
if any, vestiges of its old condition; but, judging
by our present ideas relative to space, light, and
accessibility, it must have been a gloomy and confined situation for such a shrine of the arts, and
one so resorted to by the noblest in intellect and
rank in the land." Although the house thus celebrated is no longer standing in its entirety, it may
be of some interest to state, on the same authority,
that whilst the ground-floor was a shop for the sale
of ordinary goods, where "the public entered in
and out at pleasure," the first-floor suite formed a
gallery or repository into which only Mr. Wedgwood's wealthy and aristocratic patrons were admitted; and the second-floor formed the home of
Mr. Wedgwood and his family when in town.
Josiah himself thus describes the house in a letter
to Bentley: "It is at the top of St. Martin's Lane,
a corner house, 60 feet long; the streets are wide
which lye to it, and carriages may come to it
either from Westminster or the City without being
incommoded with drays full of timber and coals,
which are always pouring in from the various
wharfs, and making stops in the Strand, very disagreeable and sometimes dangerous. The rent
is … 100 guineas a year. My friends in
town tell me that it is the best situation in London
for my rooms."

Another fact relating to the neighbourhood of
Covent Garden and St. Martin's Lane may as well
be noticed here. It was the first in the West End
of London to dispense with the old sign-boards
which used to project over the pathways. A daily
paper of November, 1762, tells us, as a piece of
news, that "the signs in Duke Court, St. Martin's
Lane, are all taken down, and affixed to the front
of the houses." Thus the City of Westminster
began the innovation by procuring an Act of Parliament with powers for that purpose. Other West-End parishes, including that of Marylebone, copied
the example; the City of London in due course
followed suit, and long before the end of the last
century the picturesque signs were superseded by
plain and prosaic numbers. Along with the signs,
of course, went the sign-posts. Mr. J. Larwood
tells us, in his "History of Sign-Boards," that this
removal of the sign-posts, and the paving of the
streets at the same time with Scotch granite, gave
rise to the following epigram:—
"The Scottish new pavement deserves well our praise;
To the Scotch we're obliged, too, for mending our ways:
But this we can never forget, for they say
As that they have taken our posts all away."

Bedford Street, which runs northwards from
the Strand to the west of the churchyard of St.
Paul's, Covent Garden, can at all events boast of
some ancient memories. Strype describes it as "a
handsome, broad street, with very good houses,"
adding that since the Fire of London the latter
are generally taken up by tradesmen of the better
class, such as mercers, drapers, and lacemen; but
these have given way to large second-hand booksellers and printsellers. The houses on the western
side, Strype remarks, are better than those on the
east. The upper part of the street dates from 1637;
and on one of the houses on the western side is a
plain tablet with an inscription, "This is Bedford
Street." In this street resided Quin the actor;
Chief Justice Richardson; Sir Francis Kynaston,
the poet; the Earl of Chesterfield; and Thomas
Sheridan, the father of Richard Brinsley Sheridan.
Whyte, in his "Miscellanea Nova," tells us how
one day when there he looked out up Henrietta
Street—opposite to which Mr. Sheridan lived—and saw Dr. Johnson walking "with a peculiar
solemnity of deportment and an awkward sort
of measured step, and laying his hands, as he
went along, upon the top of each of the stone
posts with chains which served, in the absence of
flag-stones, to guard pedestrians from horses and
carriages."

We find the following advertisement respecting
the newly-introduced luxury of tea in the Tatler
of March, 1710:—"The finest Imperial Tea, 18s.;
Bohee, 12s., 16s., 20s., and 24s.; all sorts of Green,
the lowest 12s. To be had of R. Tate, at the
'Star' in Bedford Court, near Bedford Street,
Covent Garden." Tea had been introduced into
England more than half a century before; but
even at the date to which reference is here made
it was evidently still a costly and rare article, if we
may judge from the prices given in the above
advertisement.

In consequence of the removal of house-signs
(of which we have already spoken), the difficulty of
finding out a house at night was greatly increased,
and therefore other means were resorted to, as we
learn from an advertisement of "Doctor James
Tilbrough, a German doctor," who resided "over
against the New Exchange in Bedford Street, at
the sign of the Peacock, where you shall see at
night two candles burning within one of the chambers before the balcony, and a lanthorn with a
candle in it upon the balcony." We have mentioned in a preceding chapter that it is to Covent
Garden that London is indebted for the introduction of "balconies."

Southampton Street is the name of the thoroughfare which connects the southern side of Covent
Garden with the Strand. Garrick at one time
lived in Southampton Street. Mr. Cradock, who
knew him well, tells us several good stories about
him. Garrick was a great mimic, and by his
power of imitation could make Johnson seem extremely ridiculous. He could put on the doctor's
rough and uncouth manners, and growl out four
or five lines of Gray's "Bard," without, however,
articulating the words. This he could do at his
suppers to the entertainment of his friends, but
not to the satisfaction of Dr. Johnson. Another
anecdote, related likewise by Mr. Cradock, introduces Mrs. Garrick:—"My apartments," he tells
us, "were at that time in Southampton Street,
opposite to Mr. Garrick, who sometimes would
divert a few friends with a ludicrous story at my
expense, 'That I had stayed out so very late one
night at the "Piazza" Coffee-house; and that at
my return I had disturbed Mrs. Garrick and his
whole neighbourhood; so much so, indeed, that
he was afraid he must have called for the watch.'
Part of this story might be correct; but Mrs.
Garrick owned to whom it was indebted for its
embellishments. The whole truth was, that the
lady of the house where I lodged was built on a
very large scale, and in her hurry to let me in,
by some accident or other fell down in the passage,
and could not readily be got up again; and I
believe that, growing rather impatient, I possibly
might call out very vociferously, till the lady
could be safely removed; and that the husband,
who was seriously disturbed, became angry, and
absolutely declared that his wife at no future time
should sit up so late for a lodger." From Southampton Street Garrick removed to his house in
Adelphi Terrace, at the solicitation of his friend
Lord Mansfield. The houses on the Terrace, from
the beauty of their prospect, had been selected
by his lordship for particular friends. The centre
house was allotted to the great actor, but none of
them, Mr. Cradock tells us, were quite suited to
him, as his health was then declining, and the bleak
situation was ill contrasted with the warm and
sheltered apartments in Southampton Street which
he had left. In Southampton Street lived and
died old Gabriel Cibber, and here his son Colley
Cibber was born.

Extending from Southampton Street to Bedford
Street, about midway between the Strand and
Henrietta Street, is Maiden Lane, on which we
have already slightly touched in a previous chapter.
We may add, however, that the well-known tavern
here, called the "Old Welch Ale House," which
stood on the site of the "Bedford Head," and
which was pulled down in 1870, has risen, phœnixlike, in a new building, which has returned to its old
designation so far as to style itself the "Bedford
Tavern." It stands next door to the house of
Andrew Marvell, the poet and patriot, where he was
lodging when Lord Danby climbed his stairs with
a message and bribe from the king, but found him
too honest and too proud to accept it. It is said
that he was dining off the pickings of a muttonbone when Lord Danby called, and that as soon as
he was gone he was obliged to send to a friend
to borrow a guinea. Two doors off, at an old
French perruquier's, at the sign of the "White
Peruke," Voltaire lodged when young, and when
busy in publishing his "Henriade;" he was a
constant visitor at the "Bedford," where his bust
still adorns a room. Voltaire had been imprisoned
in the Bastile for a libel, and after his release
came over to London, where he procured many
subscriptions towards publishing his poem. He
remained here several years, becoming acquainted
with Pope, Congreve, Young, and other celebrated
literary men of his time; and tradition says that
they frequently resorted to this tavern together of
an evening. When Turner lived in this street
(prior, that is, to 1800) he would often spend an
evening at the "Bedford." "In the parlour of the
'Bedford,' " says Mr. J. H. Jesse, in his "London,"
"met the 'Shilling Rubber Club,' of which Fielding,
Hogarth, Goldsmith, and Churchill were members.
It was at one of their meetings here that the quarrel
arose between Hogarth and Churchill which induced the latter to satirise his friend, and the
former to retaliate upon him with his unrivalled
pencil. The 'Epistle to Hogarth' is comparatively
forgotten; but Churchill will still live as 'Bruin'
when his verse shall have passed into oblivion."
The present tavern, which has resumed its ancient
name, is well and respectably conducted, and still
keeps up the literary traditions of the vicinity by
being the home of a literary and artistic club
called the "Reunion," which meets three times
a week for the discussion of subjects of general
interest.

Exactly opposite, on the south side, was a part
of the premises of Messrs. Godfrey and Cooke, of
Southampton Street, the oldest chemists and druggists in London, having been established in 1680.
But these premises have lately been absorbed into
a handsome Catholic church, with schools and
presbytery attached, dedicated to the Sacred Heart,
and solemnly opened by Archbishop Manning in
the autumn of 1874. A hundred years ago, or a
little more, Mr. Ambrose Godfrey, one of the firm,
proposed to extinguish fires by a "new method of
explosion and suffocation," thereby anticipating the
"Fire Annihilator" of our own day.

On the south side, nearer to the west end of the
street, is a house which since 1864 has been a
"School of Arms and of Athletic Exercises." It
was previously a place notoriously of bad reputation as the "Cider Cellars"—a place of low and
not very moral amusement for the fast young
"swells" of the City and West End after the
theatres were closed, and rivalling the "Coal
Hole" and the "Judge and Jury" in their special
characteristics of immorality. It had been devoted
to the muse of song for a century and a half at
the least.

Maiden Lane is said by Mr. Isaac D'Israeli, in
his "Curiosities of Literature," to have received its
name from a statue of the Virgin Mary, "which in
Catholic days adorned the corner of the street, as
Bagford writes to Hearne," who also says that the
frequent sign of "the Maidenhead" denoted "Our
Lady's Head." But this may be a fanciful conjecture, as the sober and honest chronicler, John Stow,
tells us that its original designation was "Ingene"
or "Ing" Lane.

Chandos Street, which leads from Maiden Lane
towards the lower end of St. Martin's Lane, was so
called after Brydges, Lord Chandos, the ancestor of
the "princely" Duke of Chandos. It was built in
the reign of Charles I. In the Harleian Miscellany
we are told that at the corner of Chandos Street
was the sign of a Balcony, "which country people
were wont much to gaze on." A balcony—or, as
it was sometimes called, a "belle-coney"—was at
that time (as we have already remarked) a novel
invention, and may, therefore, well have attracted
the attention of country folks.

At the "Three Tuns," a bagnio in this street,
the Honourable John Finch was stabbed, in a fit of
jealousy, by a celebrated personage, Sally Pridden,
whose portrait was painted by Sir Godfrey Kneller.
She was called "Sally Salisbury," on account of a
fancied resemblance to the then Countess of Salisbury. She died in Newgate whilst undergoing her
sentence for the above deed of violence, "leaving
behind her," says Caulfield, in his "Memoirs of
Remarkable Persons," "the character of the most
notorious woman that ever infested the hundreds
of Old Drury or Covent Garden either."

Bedfordbury is the name given to a district
containing a few small and narrow streets lying
between St. Martin's Lane, on the west side, and
Bedford Street, Covent Garden, on the east. It
was built about the year 1635, and was once the
residence of well-to-do families. It has, however,
but few historical or literary associations; though
Mr. Peter Cunningham records the fact that in
1636 Sir Francis Kynaston, the accomplished
scholar and poet, was living hereabouts, "on the
east side of the street towards Berrie," and he
supposes that his name is still perpetuated in
Kynaston's Alley adjoining. The whole district is
now occupied by a nest of low, dark, and crowded
streets and alleys, which form a blot and disgrace
on our metropolitan administration, and in the
centre of which is a mission-chapel with schools
attached to it.

Of Sir Francis Kynaston some interesting details
will be found in Faulkner's "History of Chelsea."
It appears that during the prevalence of the plague
in London, in 1636, Sir Francis, at that time Regent
of the Museum Minervæ, presented to the king a
petition requesting permission to remove his institute to Chelsea College, and the king granted his
request. "The Museum Minervæ," adds Faulkner, "was an academy instituted in the eleventh
year of King Charles I., and established at a house
in or near Covent Garden, purchased for the purpose by Sir Francis Kynaston, and furnished by
him with books, manuscripts, paintings, statues,
musical and mathematical instruments, &c.,' and
every requisite for a polite and liberal education.
Only the nobility and gentry were admissible into
the academy. Sir Francis Kynaston was chosen
president or regent of the new institution, and
professors were appointed to teach the various arts
and sciences. The constitutions of the Museum
Minervæ were published in London in 1626, in
quarto." The authorities of Chelsea College, however, remonstrated against this royal concession,
and so the grant never took effect. Sir Francis
and his colleagues accordingly were obliged to
content themselves with other quarters, at Little
Chelsea. The subsequent history of the Museum
Minervæ we have not been able to trace; but it
is worth mentioning here in connection with the
borderland of Covent Garden and St. Martin's
Lane, as in all probability it furnished some hints
towards the first foundation—or, at all events, to
the first rough outline—of the Royal Academy.
It is supposed by Allibone that Sir Francis did not
long survive the transaction here recorded, but died
about the year 1642. He was the author of a
Latin verse translation of Chaucer's "Troilus and
Cressida," and of a poem entitled "Leoline and
Sydanis, an Heroic Romance of the Adventures
of two Amorous Princes," together with sundry
affectionate addresses to his mistress under the
name of "Cynthia." Sir Francis is mentioned in
terms of appreciation in George Ellis's "Specimens of Early English Poets," and in the "Censura
Literaria."